Bad Days
by Seftimiu
Summary: Prompt/Challenge: Degenerative Disease! Poor suffering Pipster Piper/Trickster


Title: Bad Days.  
Author: Seftimiu aka Brain Freeze Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Don't own, don't make money off of it.  
Warning: Kinda smoopy, really. /headdesk/ aw well. schmoop has to happen sometime?  
Prompt/Challenge: Degenerative Disease! Poor suffering Pipster Notes: (Yes, I have RA)

He didn't even notice at first.

Well, not that anything was wrong per se. He was just sore.

And really? Who wouldn't be after doing battle with the Flash and running around causing mayhem all day? Tired? You bet! That was natural and normal. Besides, guards and cops weren't exactly known for patting you on the head and saying 'gooood boy' when you rob a bank.

If he was a bit stiff in the mornings? It was because he stressed his joints and muscles the day before. No big deal. You walk or run through the air, when you technically have no traction, and see how hard you work your body!

Of course, after he died and then came back to life, it was even easier to excuse. Or, rather, ignore.

For a little while.

--

"Gettin' old." James muttered as he sat on the side of the bed, looking down at his feet. He'd been awake for the last twenty minutes, but hadn't bothered to get up yet.

Piper was already out of bed and puttering around the apartment. James could smell the bacon and the scent of coffee in the air.

"Who's getting old?" Piper called from the next room. "Better not be talking about me!"

"No, just myself." James rubbed his head and contemplated the distance to the bathroom. "Just me."

"I'm nearly the same age you are." Piper leaned into the doorway. "Now, come on, you have a meeting in an hour. I already let you oversleep. Get moving! You're not that old!"

"I've not been asleep." James denied as he forced himself to his feet. "I feel like I've been run over by the Flash a few times. Tellin' ya. I'm getting too old for this shit." He tried to stretch and listened with a wince as things snapped and popped.

"Maybe you should try stretching exercises or just exercising period." Piper offered with a small smile as he turned from the room. James looked after him, frowning. He wished it was that easy. It would be easier if was just old age.

James shuffled into the bathroom, turning on the water as hot as he could stand it, hoping it would loosen everything up. Another start to another day. After a few hours, he forgot all about it.

Months went by, and things were either better or worse, without any indication of what was setting it off. His fingers would get stiff and swell, and he'd fumble with whatever he was trying to do at the time. He'd curse under his breath, and tell himself it was the weather, his age, or that he was catching a cold.

It wasn't that Piper hadn't been paying attention, it was just that it was just too easy to excuse. James' excuses made as much sense as anything else, after all.

At least, until the first time that Trickster handed Piper a bottle to open.

Piper put the soda to the side and gently took Trickster's hand, lightly running his own fingers over the knuckles and then turning his hands over. "James? This is not old age." He told him quietly. "I really think it's time you saw a doctor."

He didn't meet the other man's eyes, as he looked down at his hands within Piper's. "Maybe it's just--"

"You walk like Yoda every morning now." Piper interrupted him. "I've tried to not think about it either. But we can't avoid this anymore. This is not normal. True, we all get aches and pains as we get older. But you're moving like you're eighty. You're not even forty yet." Piper reached up and carded his hand through Trickster's hair.

"We need to take you to a doctor." Piper repeated.

He shook his head, starting slow and then more vigorously. Well, as much as he dared.

"What? Damn it, James, you could be seriously ill. Perhaps there is something to treat..."

"Pills, shots, and it doesn't matter. It'll keep on. Some days will be good. Some will be bad, and then eventually it will be very bad." James told him bitterly, pulling his hand out of Piper's and sitting down in the kitchen chair. "Operations. And splints. And sticking big needles to drain shit off." He swallowed and looked away from Piper.

"You... you already know what's wrong with you? Don't you?" Piper slowly sat down beside him. "James?"

"I wonder how many pain pills I'll end up having in my cabinet." James added, still sounding bitter. "And of course, everyone will be just oh so supportive. You will be too. At least, until you realize that it will never get any better, and that it's just going to get worse, and then I'll just be a pain in the ass--"

"Trickster!" Piper interrupted. "What the hell is it?"

"I love how they add the word 'arthritis' in it. Makes it sound so mundane and almost benign. Rheumatoid, of course, does make it sound more serious. But eventually those that don't have to deal with it just nod their heads and figure its no big deal. Those that do have to deal with it, find it hard to believe it is that bad. And those that have it? Either develop a martyr complex or are so fucking miserable they make everyone else miserable." The bottle sailed across the room, splashing sticky soda against the wall and floor. James glared at it, but made no move to clean up the mess he'd just made.

"How can you be sure that is what you have?" Piper asked, not because he doubted, but because he just hoped there was room for that doubt to manifest.

"My grandmother had it. My mother has it. Shall I sit here and name all my aunts, uncles, and cousins?" James turned away, not looking at Piper. Refusing to meet his eyes. "My body will hate itself. Autoimmune. It'll attack itself."

"Then let's get it confirmed and then we... just deal with it." Piper leaned forward, trying to meet James' eyes.

"And so we confirm it, and then what? You seriously plan on sticking around for the next twenty or more years, watching as I get--"

"You seriously think I'm that shallow?" Piper challenged. He pressed his lips together and glared at him. "Or are you just trying to push me away? You are? Aren't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Trickster forced himself to his feet and turned to leave the room.

Piper caught him around the waist easily. It was obviously a bad day, since James could usually all but disappear if the moment suited him. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I don't give up. You know that."

James took a deep breath and forced himself to look up, to look him in the eye. "Guess we'll see. Won't we? My parents stopped being an act long before I showed up in Central City, Piper. And it wasn't because of me. It was because my father couldn't take her 'incessant whining' anymore."

"I'm not your father, Trickster." Piper refused to let him go, but he did loosen his grip. "Eventually? You'll get that." He promised. "I have patience. But you have to not give up, first."

"I have never given up, anything." Trickster told him, keeping his eyes on Piper's.

"Then we deal with this, every day, as it comes. The good days, the bad days, and the horrible days. Even the days when you want to drop an anvil on my head, and the days I want to stuff you in a tuba. But we don't give up, and we don't let it beat us down. But the first thing we do? Is you have to go to the doctor. Take the first step."

"It'll be the first step to my last step." Trickster argued quietly.

"Sooner we deal, the longer till that last step." Piper argued back. "And besides, think of all the people you'll get to run over someday with a wheelchair, and all the people you could hit with a cane?"

"Stop trying to cheer me up." James' lips twitched slightly.

"You can have stripes on everything..." Piper wrapped both arms around him, holding him gently.

"I hate how optimistic you can be. You're supposed to be pessimistic since you started wearing dark colors. It's an unwritten law." James bitched.

"Well you know me. I like to buck the stereotypes." Piper pressed his lips against his forehead. "Come on... I'll make the appointment."

"Go with me?"

"Always." 


End file.
